Playing with Razors
by unset city
Summary: The relationship between Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd is one full of darkness and dread, one full of passion and blood. How long can Mrs. Lovett play with razors until they cut her too deep?
1. Abnormal

It was the normal days Mrs

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sweeney Todd**

**Ok, I've decided to begin a collection of one shots that will probably never link into each other. I'm basically doing it cuz I love writing one shots, especially angsty ones! Mmm, I'm so morbid…**

It was the normal days Mrs. Lovett hated the most. The days when everything ran smoothly, when there were no big tragedies or triumphs, no big changes. When days were normal, it made her feel like the days never changed, like she was stuck in some portal of drudgery that followed the same sequence of events. Normal days reminded her of just how normal and dreary her life really was, even if there was a demon barber living right above her, even if her normal day consisted of cutting up bodies, turning them into mince meat and then baking them into pies. Her normal day did not seem normal to anyone else, but in essence it was the same—she did the same damn thing over and over again. So she hated normal days for the way they seemed endless, continuous, and incessant.

But mostly she hated normal days because they pushed Sweeney Todd away from her.

During a normal day, he was always the same—distant, cold, and silent. When she brought him his meals and tried to engage him into small talk it was always the same; he would either not bother to respond or, when he was in a particularly nasty mood, would just flat out order her to leave. It always left her crushed, even though she ploughed on with determination, serving pie after pie and smiling to every customer. She was determined not to let Sweeney Todd, or the normal days, affect her, even though she knew that they slowly were.

So months passed, months of being pushed away from Mr. Todd, months of doing the same work everyday in the same precise order. She tried to mix it up; in her talks—always one sided—with Mr. Todd she attempted to get him to laugh, tried to get him to feel something, see something when he looked at her. When she served and made her pies she tried to whistle to herself to change things; it normally only resulted in making her even more despaired. It seemed that no matter what she did, the normal days would continue, with the normal day and the normal Sweeney Todd.

She could no longer handle it. She had to do something before she fell completely, before she napped, but there was nothing she could think of to do.

Until one night when she was delivering Mr. Todd's dinner to his room. It was late—she had fallen behind serving pies, and she had had to rush to serve him his dinner. As usual no lights were on in his little room, the moonlight weakly pouring in from the large window that overlooked London the only source of illumination.

She planted a big, cheery, oh so false smile on her face as she saw him, his form slouched over, like any normal day, in his barber chair, hands on the arm rests as he stared blankly at the floor in thought.

"Good evening Mr. Todd!" As usual, he did not react to her greeting; it was as though he hadn't even heard her and, with the dark thoughts she was sure were running through his mind, she doubted he really did.

The dinner was small but sufficient, even though she doubted he'd eat it anyway; he only ate the bare minimum when he had to, and when he had to was usually when his body was on the point of shutting down. She placed the tray with the sandwich she had made down on his barbering desk, and turned back to look at his dark form, searching the darkness for something to say. She had nothing really to chatter about, and that annoyed her. But then, she _normally _chattered away…

She winced. Yes, normally, and that was the whole problem. Perhaps he'd become intrigued if she stayed silent? She'd attempt it.

But after several minutes of being painfully silent, she sighed, giving up. He had not so much as glanced up. She should have known better; he did not care what she did, so long as she was away from him.

_Away from him…_

That was just it, wasn't it? If she got close to him, surely she'd get a reaction, even if it was just a snarl or a push away. She took a step toward him, the floorboards, old and worn from the pacing he did everyday, creaking beneath her. He did not move. Another step and he was still immobile, eyes trained on the floor, downcast. He appeared to be almost dead, with the moonlight illuminating his pale face to her, so white, and the black rings under his eyes. In a way he really was dead, at least in spirit. Sweeney Todd was a living dead man, his cracked heart, if he even had one, beating only for revenge, for blood.

But she had always believed there was—could be—something more. Despite how dead he was, he still had a heart, no matter how broken, no matter how hollow. A heart that she wished to revive, breathe life into again and nurse back to health with her own, no matter how dangerous it was, no matter how deadly. She had to do, step over the broken glass shards of his heart and find him somewhere among those fragments, find the man he had once been. Benjamin Barker…

She took another step, and then she was next to him, slightly in front of him, certainly in his line of vision. But still her ignored her, unblinking and slouched in his seat, a puppet whose strings had been cruelly cut.

Her eyes scanned his face, flickered across his shadowed features, trying to find some hint of life. Nothing. She had to do something for the both of them. Her eyes fell on his lips. She'd breathe life back into him; she would break the normal routine, their routine. There was no room for second thoughts.

Her head dipped, her body bent, and her lips were on his, those cold, coarse lips that stole her own breath until she was barely breathing with him. He did not respond, but she felt him twitch, felt his mouth part slightly beneath hers in a smothered gasp. She thought he would push her away, so she closed her eyes tightly and enjoyed the moment while she could, her tiny hands gripping onto his shoulders in a death grip, knowing he'd throw her to the ground soon, get out his 'friends' to spill her blood.

But he did not. He stayed still, silent, and let her kiss him, her passion pouring into him, the broken vassal that could not hold it. When she pulled back, she felt his warm breath skim across her face, and knew that she had at least accomplished one thing—she had gotten him to breathe again. And she was pretty sure she had broken the normal routine, as she looked up to meet his black eyes, now intently locked on her.

She let herself be pushed away from him, and was surprised by the tenderness of his hands, the gesture, her feet still staying on the ground instead of, like usual, her body crumpling to it.

Through the darkness Sweeney Todd regarded her, and she stared right back, transfixed as she always was by his dark beauty, by the hollow pits that were is eyes.

"Mr. Lovett…" His voice was a rasp, but was thunderous in the silent room, "What was that for?"

She smiled at him, her lips trembling, still red from her desperate kiss. She wanted to tell him that she had just been trying to bring him back to life, but knew that that would be the wrong answer. Sweeney Todd did not want to exist among the living; he was a creature of the shadows, a villain amongst the corrupted town of London. He was a murderer, and enjoyed being one; he was cold, and he liked himself that way. Sweeney Todd would not allow himself to be fixed, even though she tried desperately too, sometimes too desperately.

And so she offered her own explanation, the other one, the reason it had all began in the first place.

"I was just trying to break the normal routine Mr. T, just trying to be abnormal…"

Which was hard to be, when they were both already so abnormal.

**Should I continue with more? Review!**


	2. Frail

Mrs

_Frail_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sweeney Todd or any related characters**

Mrs. Lovett had always thought that she was a strong person. Day after day, she handled things that most people, most ordinary people, would never dream of handling, of doing. Her job was far from pleasant, and a part of her was pleased that she was the only one who had the stomach enough, the strength enough, to do it. The sight of blood never made her cringe, the smell of burning flesh never made her balk. As she sliced through body after body, tore skin from bone, picked up muscle after muscle, bloody tissue after bloody tissue, she felt absolutely nothing. No horror, no remorse just…Satisfaction. This was, after all, the meat that made her so famous, made her so wealthy now. How could she not like it, however disturbing it was. Or perhaps Sweeney Todd was just rubbing off on her.

Mrs. Lovett was strong when it came to running her business, always keeping a cool head, never panicking even when things got rough. Before Sweeney Todd had returned and her business had been failing, she had managed to scrounge up enough money again and again to save it from foreclosure, managed on her own to keep everything as it was. She had made sure her life had stayed steady, had worked her ass off by herself to keep everything she loved. She was not afraid to get dirty, nor was she willing to ever give in; she was tough, she followed her own rules, and she could handle almost anything.

Anything, that is, but not every_one_. Sure, she was a great mother to Toby, and she had great people skills. She was never meek, always spoke her mind, and people respected her for that. She had a keen sense when it came to socializing—she chose her friends, however few she had, wisely under the satisfaction that they would not betray her. Yes, Mrs. Lovett was wonderful when it came to people, was completely self sufficient, unmistakably strong…

Until it came to Sweeney Todd.

Around him and only him, she was weak, almost pathetic really, and so, so, so mockingly frail. She knew that he could end her life with a flick of his wrist, and although she was not intimidated…he frightened her. In his moments of absolute insanity when the traces of Benjamin Barker were obscured, he was nothing more than a monster thirsting for blood, a victim of wrath, a sinner of vengeance. He lashed out at her mostly, only her, the strong one, and managed to at times bring her to her knees. He was the devil's incarnate; cruel, callous, and holding threads of madness.

With his cruelty he made her heart weak, made that frail thing that pounded so feebly and unprotected in her chest shatter, fragments of dark glass that he held, that his blood ran down. It was all his, her heart, and she could never get it back; she simply was not strong enough too. It remained in his clutches, leaving her frail and cold on the outside, and though her body moved about just as strong as ever inside…Inside she was nothing more than a pathetic mess, a puddle of blood, a helpless victim waiting for her murderer's—his—final blow.

And that blow, that final hit…It happened everyday. Mrs. Lovett built herself up for it, strengthened her barriers, set her mind to it, and yet…It did not matter; they all crumbled anyway, and in the end she was just as frail as before, her fragile heart holding another dent from his razor, from his black eyes.

She had grown used to it, his abuse of her heart. In fact, she had even come to expect it. Every time she went up to his shop, she knew that it was coming, that moment where her fragile heart would break. Her strong body, her will, carried her up to him, as her pathetic heart fluttered and exuberance and pain. She would get to see him, to be in his presence, but he would destroy her. She didn't mind it, as twisted as it was, until after it happened because still, no matter what, she got to see him. And that…that's all that mattered to her frail little heart.

She entered the room at the top of the stair s without knocking, as usual, knowing he was expecting her. She always visited around lunch when she was on her brief break, just to talk to him, even if he never really participated. His back was to her as she entered, and he did not turn away from the large window that overlooked London to acknowledge her. Mrs. Lovett knew by now not to take it to heart; as usual, he was lost in his fantasies involving killing Judge Turpin, and she had learned to expect no less.

She sat down in his empty barbering chair with a sigh, forcing herself not to think of how many lives had ended in this very chair as she focused on Sweeney's back.

"Good day Mr. T! Lovely weather today, isn't it? Toby and I were going to the market later, and I wanted to know if you'd might like to come?"

No answer; he didn't move at all. Was he even _breathing_? He made her wonder sometimes.

"Well Mr. Todd, that sure isn't helpful! Is that a 'yes' or a 'no'?" She tried, but still received no response. She sighed a little, shifting in the deceptively comfortable chair. Such an unexpected place to die…

Her eyes searched the bland room as she talked to herself about basically nothing. The business was running smoothly, Toby was a good lad, making the pies was getting easier, she had to sweep the shop soon…She was thinking of something more to say when she looked over and saw it, glinting in the feeble sunlight that poured in through the window. A razor…

Frowning, she stood and went over to it, lying on the floor a foot away from Mr. Todd's still form. Picking it up with delicate, work worn hands, she ran a finger over the designs on the handle, marveled at how cool it was. As cold as the man who wielded it…

She trialed a finger down that long, smooth blade, a blade that had dripped so many rubies, a blade that had cut through so many skin…It looked so lovely now, shining in the thin light, a thing of deceptive beauty…

A stab of pain shot up her finger, blood falling to the floor and staining the silver red as she flinched and drew her finger back, raising it to the light to stare at the cut she had made. She was almost fascinated as she watched the blood fall, her eyes following it down to the rough floor. So transfixed was she by her own blood that she did not notice the man she had shattered for turn and stare at her, his demonic eyes boring into her.

"So frail…"

Her head snapped up at his voice, her eyes widening in astonishment. He was looking at her, and talking to her…She lowered her bleeding appendage for a second to cock her head at him, trying not to seem too excited.

"What do you mean?"

She saw something flash through those dark eyes of his as annoyance danced across his pale, dashing features. "You're fragile," he repeated, and she was unable to stop from glaring at him.

"Fragile! No I'm not!" Even though, deep inside that withered heart, she knew he was right. He glared right back at her, gesturing to her injured digit. "Yes, you are. Fragile, pathetic…" Those eyes flashed again in that indefinable look as she stepped towards him, raising up the cut finger. "I cut this on accident on your stupid razor! Here, take the bloody thing back!" That said, she threw the silver razor, his weapon of choice, at his feet, where it landed with a seemingly amplified clatter that had her holding her breath.

He stared down at his "friend" at his feet for a moment, slowly reaching down to pick it up, and with the dangerous weapon in his hand once more, he looked dangerously complete, and when he looked up to meet her eye again, she knew that he body, so frail and weak around him, was his prey. She had learned not to struggle, as in two strides he stood in front of her, that deadly blade already stained with her blood pressed against her jugular. She stared up at him, his willing victim, hating herself for loving how happy she was that he was near her, noticing her, even under these conditions. He could slit her throat now if he wanted, and she would not mind; as long as she died by him, at his feet…So, so weak…

She was still, her eyes staring into his as he leaned in, her pulse fluttering beneath the blade, her body trembling not in fear but in excitement at his proximity. The strong Mrs. Lovett, the woman who saved her business by herself, worked day and night nonstop with little sleep, the woman who was so good with people, died as he leaned in closer to her, the blade pressing into her skin until a thin line of blood trailed down the graceful curve of her neck. She was breathing heavily, her heart wailing and rejoicing as his lips met hers almost savagely, consuming her, absorbing all of strength until she was on the floor, a speck of blood so insignificant on his blade, about to be wiped off. A delicate, fragile woman slowly being crushed, smothered by her unhealthy love, by his merciless lips that took but never gave.

She was limp when his lips left hers, dazed and broken as he whispered in her ear in a hiss the one thing she didn't want to believe, but the one thing that she knew was too true. "You're so frail…"

And then he was pushing her away from him, the blood covered knife sliding away as she nearly whimpered, nearly crumpled to the ground. She could not meet his eyes, did not want to; she knew what they would hold. Absolutely nothing, and that was the problem; flat, expressionless, pits of darkness…

Her fragile heart was in shards again, choking her as she turned and hurried out of the room, away from him and all the wretched feelings he cursed her with. The cut on her finger burned with her eyes as she hurried down the stairs back into her shop, going straight back to work, never resting, as she tried in vain to erase the frailty and feeling of his coarse lips on hers.

But one thing she could not ignore: she might consider herself a strong person, but when it came to Sweeney Todd, the person she loved, the one she grieved for…She was pathetically, hopelessly, and dangerously frail, and damn if he didn't know it, prey upon it…

And there was nothing in her fragile heart that she could do to stop him. The monster had control, and she…she was just too frail to break free.

Mrs. Lovett had always known that she was a frail person, and as long as Sweeney Todd was around, could never rid herself of it.

**Yeah, I'm sorry if the end was really dragged out, I didn't know how to end it, ha. I have that problem. But anyway, I hope you liked it, cuz I just thought it up in school yesterday during a test, ha. I bet you I failed that test too so this chapter will have to make up for it! Please review, I love to hear your thoughts. Oh, and tell me if you have any suggestions, cuz I'm more than willing to listen. **

**Crazy**


	3. Darkness

_Darkness_

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sweeney Todd**

**This one shot's based on the end of the movie, when Mrs. Lovett's dying in the oven, only she dies much slower, ha. I'm terrible…But here you go! **

There was something about the darkness that always intrigued her. Perhaps it was that in the darkness everything was hidden? In the darkness, everyone was the same, all of their secrets concealed safe and sound among the shadows, mixing and melding seamlessly into them until they no longer existed. Equality…The darkness was so oddly warm, so thrilling and yet comforting. She could get lost in it, and never get out, and she did not mind that.

Not so long as the darkness contained Sweeney Todd. He was always there, lurking in those shadows, a natural essence in that darkness. In a way, he _was_ that darkness, his soul blackened to befit it, his eyes two pits that seemed to have been born from it. Wherever he went there was darkness, that dark shroud of death that threatened all, consumed life after life, made that darkness thicker, deeper. It should have disturbed her, but Mrs. Lovett only became fascinated by it, that all consuming darkness and the man that had mastered it.

So enraptured by it, by him, she did not noticed until too late that it was swallowing her as well.

It had crept up on her so stealthily, through a crack that had formed in her heart through his callous actions, cold words. She had been unable to restrain it, and in a way she did not wish to; the beast sprang inside of her, gnashing its teeth, and she let it, let it glide over her thoughts and distort her judgment until her senses were clouded by him, her heart was black and twisted and belonged solely to him, to death.

The Devil himself held her heart by a razor, and she could only smile at him through the blood and the pain. She knew it was wrong, she knew that she should resent the darkness, but she could not. How could she resent something she loved so entirely? As twisted as it was, as distorted, as dangerous, she loved it—him—and refused not too. Without Sweeney Todd, then who would Mrs. Lovett be after all?

He had made her, this wicked murderess, through his own wrath, drawn her from that feeble light that had always flickered into the deepest black spotted with flecks of red, and she found no doors to escape it, no light switches, no anything but Sweeney Todd, and that was all that she needed. To be with him, even in darkness, even in blood…

Oh yes, she's accept that over anything, even her own life. Sold her soul to the devil, to the darkness, is what she had done, and she could never get it back. She was now his minion, his accomplice, his little dark doll willing to bend at his every whim, even if it meant just cleaning up his messes.

Oh yes, she cleaned them up exceptionally well she did, almost perfectly. Ripping through that flesh, watching it burn as blood fell to the floor…

She always kept the bake house dark to keep herself hidden, to mask her deeds. To see it in the light would break the spell, that deep, dark spell she had been placed under by her heart, and she refused to let that happen.

To burn forever in the darkness with Sweeney Todd was her dream, and was so close to accomplishing it…

Until she remembered just how cruel the darkness was. Although things were hidden, they could still sneak up on her, attack her and shred her to pieces. And to her heart, her body and her soul, that was exactly what had happened.

The light had entered her, that unwanted light, and had scalded her, bright flashes of brilliant red and vibrant orange that cut into her frail skin, so accustomed to the dark, ripped through her decaying heart.

She could not be saved form this burning light—not when the one she loved himself, that devil, that dark angel, had did this to her, shed this light and set her body ablaze in fire and pain. The two became so tangible as she drew in her final breaths, preparing for the ultimate darkness, that place she belonged.

His eyes watched her, the only dark things that reflected the light of hell, and she wanted to laugh, but she was too busy screaming. Watching the light consume her, the light that had been so long absent from her psyche, her spirit, her soul…It was the most ironic way to die.

Those eyes would follow her into that ultimate darkness, always burning so bright despite the black, dancing with the flames that had turned her to ash, reflecting her own screaming visage.

The darkness…It was Mrs. Lovett's only love now.

**I know it was kind of short but I wrote it at the last minute, cuz I just finished watching the movie with a friend. As usual the ending made me unbelievably sad, and I thought about how Mrs. Lovett died, and thought it might have been symbolic or something, so I just threw this together. Still, I'm sorry it was short and dialogue less; I tend to go more towards feelings instead of dialogue. Please Review and I promise to write more! **


	4. Dark Tears

_Dark Tears_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd**

**This chapter is for everyone that reviewed, you guys are awesome! I'm sorry if you wanted a reply, I, uh, am ashamed to admit that I just learned how to reply, ha. Yes, I know, sad. You can laugh at me if you want, cuz I certainly am! **

The first time he saw them, the rage had practically blinded him. They had stood right outside of her shop, at the doorstop to _his _house, and talked, smiled, and flirted. There had been no shame in their actions, and when that brute had leaned in to her, captured her red lips in a kiss, he had had to look away to scream.

Since he had looked away, he had not seen her push him away, not seen her scowl and leave her date at the door. He did not see it, so he did not know of it, did not know that she truly did not like that man, did not know that Mr. Sullivan was not the one that held her heart. No, he had not seen it, so he was under the assumption that the baker was in love with Mr. Sullivan, and the concept infuriated him to a point where all he saw was red.

Sweeney Todd could not explain his reaction; a part of him did not want to know. But the thought of Mrs. Lovett with any man, especially one such as Mr. Sullivan…

It made him want to kill for a reason other than revenge.

He was not at all dull; he knew that some form of jealously was infiltrating his brain, and it infuriated him even more. To feel such things about her, to be so damn protective…It made him want to just go down to her shop and slit her throat, especially now, considering her frivolous intentions concerning Mr. Sullivan. That man was simply useless—why could she not see that? He looked the part of a gentleman through and through, but he would never be enough for her. No one would. Not so long as Mrs. Lovett was in Sweeney Todd's dark heart, no one else could have her; he'd make sure of that.

So he had devised a plan, a sinister one, to dispose of the problem. Sweeney doubted that Mrs. Lovett would agree to her 'lover' dying, so he did not involve her. It was his secret, and she would only know about it once it was complete.

He'd seen him lurking around the shop a lot recently, and in his wrath he failed to notice that Mr. Sullivan was never invited in. Just knowing that he was there to see her, to sweep her away from him and his darkness was enough to have Sweeney Todd clutching his razor so tight that its handle left an imprint in his hand. He'd quickly deal with this fool of a man and end all doubts that Ms. Lovett—the only person he really had—would leave him.

So it was with a smile that he approached Mr. Sullivan, and in a deceptively smooth voice, so sinisterly beguiling, offered him a free shave. Oh yes, the closest shave he would ever know.

It was unfortunate for Mr. Sullivan that Mrs. Lovett was not in her shop to see the interaction and stop it. The man was oblivious to the attentions of the demon barber, as all of his customers were, and with a bright smile and a nod followed Sweeney Todd up to his death.

The room looked ordinary, the barbering chair comfortable. The sun poured weakly in through the window to highlight it, making it look deceptively wonderful, almost angelic. Mr. Sullivan sat down in it willingly, eagerly, bearing his neck to the mad Mr. Todd. It nearly made the demon barber smile. He gullible, how deceivable; certainly not the kind of man Mrs. Lovett needed. No, Mrs. Lovett needed someone a bit…

He drew his razor out, felt the edge.

Sharper.

Mr. Sullivan was talking about how he wanted a shave to look good for Mrs. Lovett, and Sweeney Todd would give him one. Oh yes, a very good shave that would make Mrs. Lovett love him instantly. That was what he told the man, this gigantic fool of a man, before he brought the blade to his neck.

He could not help, before the blade glided over the jugular and blood spilled free, but lean down to whisper into Mr. Sullivan's ear an ultimatum, the reason behind his demise. It was a simple, three words laced with all the malice in the world:

"She is _mine_…"

And then the blood was gushing out, and Mr. Sullivan was drawing his last breath on a scream that was never released. His body went down the chute without further delay, a smirk on Mr. Todd's lips as he watched the body fall and hit the ground below with a sickening crack. Mrs. Lovett would shortly discover the body of her lover, and he did not care; she deserved the pain, just as much as he deserved the darkness. They were, after all, two killers. How could they not be together?

He fell back into his chair, coated in Mr. Sullivan's blood, and laughed for the first time in years, but not the laugh that he remembered; he laughed the laugh of Sweeney Todd now and the darkness and coldness of it made a shudder trace down his own spine.

Sweeney Todd always got what he wanted or else.

--

He had been expecting her. So when she arrived at his apartment door, pale and furious, he was not surprised. He stayed in his barbering chair—the chair of death—not bothering too look up at her from the floor as she stormed into the room, her sobbing breaths breaking the silence.

He listened as she shifted, felt rather than saw her fury and felt a stab of satisfaction at it. Fury he had caused…

"W-Why?" she stammered, still too distraught to form a coherent sentence. But he knew what she was talking about, and nearly snarled. He offered the simplest explanation, one that they could both make sense of.

"Because he was in the way."

"I-In the way?" she repeated in a whisper, and he flicked the razor in his hand, not deeming her with a response. He felt her anger building, felt the grief tear through her, and felt more satisfaction. He was putting her pain, just like she put him in pain by making him feel. Sweeney Todd was not supposed to have emotions; he was supposed to be dead, striving only for revenge and bloodshed. And yet Mrs. Lovett…She had changed that, and she needed to pay for it.

"Yes, he was a distraction to you."

"No goddamn you, he wasn't! He didn't know anything and you…You…You didn't even tell me you were going to kill him!" she was screaming, and when he looked up from his glinting blade to her dark eyes he saw that they were filling with dark tears. They made his eyes narrow, made him stand from his chair of death.

"You cry for him?" he growled, even though he had known she would. Even if he didn't want her to, she would.

Her face was a mask of pain and fury as she stared at him, this demon before her, not bother to wipe away the tears that streamed in dark rivulets down her face.

"Of course I do you ninny, he was a good man, no matter what!"

A good man…Those words mocked Sweeney Todd, rattled the cage in which he was trapped until there was no choice but to lash out at her. "A good man?" he laughed that dark laugh again, so sickly and revolting that she flinched back, her dark eyes of clouded pain widening as he took a step towards her wearing the look of a predator stalking his helpless prey—her.

"Of course you considered him a good man, Mrs. Lovett, of course _you_ do. What, with being his little whore and all…"

"Whore?" she repeated with a slight tremor in her voice, her dark eyes widening and narrowing in turn. "I was never his whore Sweeney Todd! What would make you even think-"

"Oh I don't know! Perhaps it is the tears you shed for him madam!" Mr. Todd all but roared, and Mrs. Lovett took a step back, towards the door.

"He was my friend, you bastard, my friend! Nothing more, nothing less and-"

"And 'friends' don't kiss each other! Do not lie Mrs. Lovett, I saw you, I saw you with him!"

"You saw us?" For a moment the color drained from her already pallid complexion, making her appear truly dead. It was then that Sweeney Todd realized he had her, and hated her for it.

"So you don't deny it…" He took another step towards her, turning the razor over and over again in his hand. She backed away, looking around wildly, frantically.

"No, you're wrong dear, it was nothing! Did you not see when I pushed him away?"

"If you really pushed him away then why did he keep coming back!?" Sweeney hissed, leaning towards her with the razor raised. Mrs. Lovett's back hit the wall, and she knew that he had her trapped, just as he wanted her.

"He came back because he was desperate! Please Sweeney love, it was nothing!"

"Then why do you cry!" He roared, and in an instant he pounced, lunging forward so that his body was towering over hers, one of his hands bracing him on the wall by her head as the other raised his friend to her throat, that pale, slender throat. He snarled down at her, dark eyes pools of demonic rage that had her gasping, trying to lean back as far as she could into the wall. He pressed the blade brutally into her beck until a thin trail of blood appeared, the red of it vibrant against her pale skin. And she never stopped crying those dark tears.

"Why do you cry…" he growled low in his throat, leaning forwards so that he was an inch away from those dark tears, her liquid eyes. He felt her shudder, saw her lashes flutter and spill more tears. "Answer!"

"I cry…" she looked directly at him, her dark eyes staring into his soul, past all those dark deeds and black tears, past all the blood and agony. She could have been crying for many reasons. Mr. Sullivan, god forbid, was one of them, and his untimely death. She could have been crying from fear of him, this demonic barber pressing a blade to her throat, but she was not. She was not scared, and although Mr. Sullivan's death was a tragedy, she was not that sad. No, what she really cried for was right in front of her, in the dark eyes of the man she loved.

"I cry for you Sweeney Todd, for how you handled this. You had to kill for me…Because you knew no other way. You had to do such a heinous unnecessary act for no reason other than your feelings, feelings that you do not know how to handle yet have, and can't get rid of. I…these tears are all for you Sweeney Todd."

IN them, in their dark depths, he could have sworn he saw his reflection, and knew that she was telling the truth. It made something inside of his twist, something that had not moved in so long, and he nearly gasped, his black eyes widening. Those tears she shed, one by one for him, were slicing a hole in him, somewhere deep inside the darkness of his soul. Those dark tears…

The razor clattered to the floor as he pressed his lips to hers, taking all that he could get in this single moment of weakness, feeling her respond with tangible feelings of dread and relief. Those dark tears smeared on his face as he devoured her, this willing soul that was all his, and only would ever be his. Mrs. Lovett was his murderess, and he hated yet adored her in equals for it.

It was when she began to respond, her soft red lips moving in ardor, that he pushed her away, slamming her hard into the wall as he stepped back, hurried back over to his barbering chair to leave her alone against the wall, not even sparing her another glance. He resumed his position in his chair, eyes on the floor, razor out, as though nothing had ever happened—which was what he was determined to believe. Mr. Sullivan's body, the only evidence, would be devoured by hungry customers shortly, and there would be nothing left to speak for any of his emotions, those wretched things, except for in the easily ignorable wrenching of his heart.

When his shop door opened and closed with a rattle that shook the walls and he was left alone again, he did nothing, just stayed as he was, an undead soul blackened with blood and tainted with dark tears shed from liquid russet eyes.

**I've always wondered what Sweeney would be like if there was another man, cuz I'm a sucker for that whole jealous romance thing. So I threw this dark little piece together to explore that, and, well, this was it! What'd you think? **

**Please Review and I'll definitely write more! **


	5. Rain

_Rain_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd or any associated characters. I just own this morbidly sort of cheesy plot, haha! **

Mrs. Lovett had always loved the rain. It was not because she thought it was pretty, like so many other frivolous females. Yes, the rain did hold some appeal in the way it could glisten as it fell, in the lovely soothing sound it made as it hit the ground in a repetitive, constant rhythm.

No, Mrs. Lovett could never love it that way, not when she saw it so differently. To her, the droplets were not beautiful, but harsh and unforgiving. They pounded into the streets, soaking them until they were nearly flooded at times as though trying to drown the world. They slammed into a body, cold pellets that could at times feel like stones, falling from the sky with a barely audible sound like blood, following no set pattern as they fell from the eaves of the houses and stores, mad wayward streaks on the cold windows that attracted them.

The rain was really not a romantic thing, not at all, and to be made into one…It never failed to make Mrs. Lovett laugh and cry both at once. Under such dreary skies, could passion and love really be found? Mrs. Lovett did not think so, and never would…until that day.

Now, the true reason why Mrs. Lovett loved the rain was simple—it washed everything away. In the rain, everything became slick and, in a way, unidentifiable. All of the grim in the streets was washed away, all of the grittiness of this morbid town on London seeming to become less obvious under the rain's sometimes gentle, sometimes harsh, assault.

She loved the rain for that too. How it could be rough or tender, how it could pound into flesh of trail down it in the faintest of streaks, of touches. She adored it for its volatility, and venerated it for its way of smoothing everything over.

Oh yes, Mrs. Lovett could not resist the rain, so it really was a no wonder when a storm finally came she could not resist going out into it. Of course, like a proper lady should she brought an umbrella, but she hardly used it. Usually she dragged it, open and pointed down at the ground, at her side, hanging onto it limply as she allowed the falling liquid, during this storm bitterly cold, to wash over her body, let it cleanse her.

God she needed to be cleansed

After everything she did, it really was a no wonder. The blood of those men that she had mutilated, stripped the meat from to bake into her pies, slid off of her into, a puddle at her feet. To be purged…

She knew that it was all false, that this distillation by rainfall could not really cure her, but she still chose to believe that it would. In her life, she needed all the hope that she could get after all, especially considering the state of her heart, that darkened, bloody thing…

Was it even still beating? She only heard the hissing of the rain, and referred to it as the sound of her heart slowly, gradually, deflating in her chest. It really was a no wonder that she was so broken; when you loved a man like Sweeney Todd, your heart was bound to be broken. Mrs. Lovett had known that, but yet it had not been enough to stop her; nothing was, not even the hell that had become her life.

She knew she was a sinner; how could she not know? Seeing blood, cleaning it up and spilling it was not exactly normal and sometimes, on days when London was sunny and cheerful and malevolence seemed to forgotten, she hated herself. But yet, no matter how much she hated herself, she could not stop what she was doing. It was not because she was afraid of Sweeney Todd; granted she was, but that did not make her pick up that axe, compel her enough to hack those bodies to pieces. No, it was in fact her love for him, the demon barber, that made her do such evil, her heart blackened and stained by him in such a way that she would do anything to try to gain his love.

And sometimes, her devotion was so strong that it scared her, and that fear only grew as she realized that she could not escape him, her feelings…

And so the only thing she had to turn to was the rain, the cold harsh droplets that fell mercilessly down at her from heaven, little spears in their own right that opened her up and spilled her blood, made her feel as cold as though death had already seized her in it's merciless hands.

But then, she supposed that she was already in death's hand; what more could Sweeney Todd ever be if not a bringer of death? And he brought her death everyday, without even realizing it.

Sweeney Todd…She stopped for a moment, let the rain course over her body and try to drown out her heart. She wondered if he even cared that she had left, without a word to him, to go out into the rainy world. All alone…

Loneliness was something that Mrs. Lovett had grown so accustomed too that it was hard for her to notice anymore, but now, under the rain that cleansed the blood away to reveal her most painful, innermost thoughts, she was painfully aware of it again.

She realized that the only one who would ever really care about her was Toby, and although she loved the boy dearly, he was still a child. No adults, no man, had ever really loved her; her marriage to Alfred had not been one based on love, but rather obligation. Besides, they had both been ruthless businessmen; it seemed like the best option for them to marry. And now that he was dead…

Who now did she have? Benjamin Barker should have been there to catch her fall, but he wasn't. Instead the man he had become, Sweeney Todd, had only assisted in helping her fall faster, fall with a force to the ground like the rain splattering around her, all those little droplets meeting an unfortunate end on the pavements, pressed and flattened to windows and doors and people…

But she never hit anyone. She fell uselessly through the air, a sad little droplet, before just shattering on the ground repeatedly, never coming in contact with a thing before her death; such was her life. And as long as Sweeney Todd was around she could not change that.

And she hoped that she never would. As long as Mr. Todd was around…

She was too absorbed in the thoughts of increasing despair that ran through her mind to notice that she was no longer alone on the rainy street, a figure dressed in black beginning to trail her slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. Poor Mrs. Lovett…

The figure began to speed up as she turned the corner, beginning to walk down a side road that was nothing but brick walls and more darkness. Her umbrella scraping on the ground and the hissing of the rain provided the perfect cover up for the stranger's footsteps, which now grew louder and more rapid, in time with Mrs. Lovett's heartbeat, as they grew even closer to her…

Mrs. Lovett was sighing, wiping the water from her eyes when her arm was grabbed with brutal force by a leather clad hand. Her eyes widened, her heart picking up with the tempo of the rain as she struggled to get loose, trying to ram her elbow back into the stranger's gut. Her struggling proved to be futile; the stranger was far stronger than she was, and with a flick of the wrist had her slamming up against the nearby brick wall, the breath whooshing out of her at the harsh impact. The stranger pressed a hand to her shoulder, keeping her back against the wall and holding her now trembling form up as her legs gave out weakly, her umbrella falling with a small clatter the ground from her weak hand.

The rain blurred her vision, and she blinked several times, trying to see the man that was accosting her. He was dark, with unnatural pale skin, and his hair…

Her gasp was cut short when a blade was quickly pressed to her throat, digging into the flesh rather roughly as she gaped up at her captor.

Sweeney Todd did nothing more than glare down at her, his face darker than the skies swirling above, his black eyes practically blazing down into her. Her heart fluttered and fell in unison in her chest, like a trapped bird that saw food but could not get to it. He looked so darkly handsome in the rain, his black clothes as socked through as hers were, his wild hair slightly more tame. The silver streak that shot through the dark tresses glowed in the gloomy atmosphere, the only spot of white, of light, on him. He left her breathless, and for a moment, just a moment, she forgot about the blade pressed to her throat.

"Mr. T…" she murmured, her voice getting lost in a crack of thunder that rattled the air. His glare only intensified at that, and she could now no longer believe in the idle fantasy that he didn't have a blade pressed to her throat, that he wasn't pinning her to the alley wall, any longer. She was in danger she knew, and the part of her that he had ingrained felt rather thrilled. To be so close to death was exhilarating in a morbid way…

"Mrs. Lovett…" Her name was a growl falling from his lips, and she shuddered in both fright and ecstasy. "Why did you leave?"

"W-What?" she gasped breathlessly, and realized that that was the wrong reaction when he growled and slid the blade along her neck. She winced as she felt a thin trail of warm blood slide down it to mix with the rain. With Sweeney Todd, it always had to be the right answer, or else…

"Where did you go, woman?! Why the hell would you go all the way out here?!" he snapped, pressing her farther into her jugular.

"I…I went for a walk Mr. T, to just…relax…" she weakly replied, and watched in fascination as he snarled at her, his handsome face contorting in such a way to make him even more attractive.

"In the rain, you asinine woman? This is no day for a casual stroll!"

"I…I know that, but you see Mr. Todd, I just… well… I love the rain is all!" It was the only excuse she had, and it was the true one. She could at least die by his hands with the thought that she had not lied. But then, that was not nearly enough to save her from internal damnation…

"And why do you bloody love the rain? It's wet and cold and dirty…You do know you can get sick, don't you?" he groused, shaking her slightly.

"Y-yes, but…I don't c-care…" Her teeth were beginning to chatter from standing still for so long; or maybe it was just because of the effect he had on her? She could never be certain.

She heard curse her when he noticed her teeth chattering, and she closed her eyes to his rain-blurred image, thinking that perhaps now he'd just slit her throat and let her blood fall with the rain, run across and bath the pavement in it.

But he did not. The pressure of the blade left her slender throat, and startled she blinked her eyes open to stare at his stoic expression, into his dark eyes that made her forget how could she was and burn up inside.

"I came after you," he quietly murmured, and the hand on her arm that pressed her into the wall softened, the grip gentling in such a startling way that she bit her lip to contain her gasp.

She was not sure what was happening, and didn't really want to know. All she felt was the rain coursing down her body, all she was aware of was him leaning towards her, that pale face and silver streak glowing in an almost heavenly way to her distorted mind. A dark angel…

His lips were a breath away from hers, his form towering over her and pressing into her in such a way that she both feared and loved him. So intimidating, with the power to end her life with the flick of his wrist…She leaned into him, her lips parted, her eyes glazed and entranced. The dark spell he had over her had long been in place, and she had lost all common sense weeks, years, decades ago, flung them away to fall in a rain puddle, in a pool of blood…

The tip of his razor he brought to her parted lips, and carefully he outlined them, the lethal point tracing over the pink skin, as cold and wet as the rain… The blade pierced her bottom lip lightly, and like a raindrop a bead of blood, so light and vibrant in this dull, gray world, slithered down her chin, followed by more droplets, which were soon stopped by his lips.

She was dead on her feet when he pressed those rough lips to hers, a senseless woman who could only part her lips and let him take, the taste of the pure rainwater on his tongue as he assaulted her, filled her mind with images of blood and roses, of blades as silver as the rain. She kissed him back without quite knowing it, clutched him desperately to her as she tried to take everything she could.

The rain crashed around them, the sound sounding to her like pieces of her heart shattering when he pulled back, his dark eyes burning even brighter now, lips red from her lipstick, from her passionate response. For a moment he just stared at her before, with an oath of rage he released her, her limp body, deprived of blood and strength, falling back against the wall, now her only hollow support as he turned, and without another look turned and walked away, leaving her as translucent as the rain in that filthy alley, the place for creatures like her.

She watched him walk away until she could no longer see him, the rain and her own tears obscuring her vision. So alike…

She knew what it would be like; when she returned it would be like nothing had happened, be like she had never left and he had never followed her. And she would never know quite why he had even followed her; she would never know.

Everything that had happened would be washed away on the rain, like usual, like she loved, and for once she could not be grateful for that. In fact, Mrs. Lovett, as she raised her tear and rain streaked face to the ferocious sky, listened to it thunder with her heart, cursed the rain, cursed the day, and cursed her life.

To just wash away…It was all she wanted now.

She had never believed that a rainstorm could ever cause a romantic encounter, and she was right. Sweeney's taste was already washing away from her mouth, the rain she had once adored taking away the one thing that she wanted to keep with her always, that one moment she had wanted to preserve.

Just washing away…

And Mrs. Lovett walked home, alone, her tears hidden by the rain, and left her umbrella lying in that alley to become covered in raindrops, the only evidence now of the encounter that could never be swept away by the rain…

**I hope you guys liked it! Um, sorry if the ending was weird, I again didn't know where to end it! I have a tendency to run on so…I still hope you liked it! If you did, you can always let me know by reviewing -hinthint- Till next time! **


	6. Weakness: Part One

_Weakness: Part one_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd or Mrs. Lovett. _

There was a hole in his life. Or rather, in the vague, grey state that he referred to as a life. It seemed almost impossible, that a man such as he, an incarnate of the devil, a demon on earth, could have something missing. His 'life' was so miniscule anyway, rotating around a singular goal as sinister as his heart: revenge.

He lived for that thing, breathed, ate and drank to it. But most of the time, he killed for it. That revenge had transformed him, and he let it; after all, what else had he to cling too? It had always been enough for him, watching blood gush from a wound, watching the victim's face turn white in death, his body stiffening as his face retained that oh so pleasurable look of fear. Sweeney Todd lived for that look; it was all he had to survive on now.

But yet…Even with the mistress that was revenge, there was something off, tilted, that even his warped mind could not ignore. As to what it was…He was afraid to know.

He was sure it was a weakness; every mortal was flawed with those abominable things, and although Sweeney Todd did not consider himself to be immortal to such things, he had always thought that he had been too far withdrawn to have them, too dead inside to have anything still alive. And yet…Somewhere, deep inside found underneath the ash of what remained of him, buried beneath the soil of suffering, it was there, a soft point, a glint of feeble light that he trampled on and despised. And no matter how much blood he spilt on it, it never seemed to go away…

It hung there, in the corners of his mind, a white speck amongst the darkness that mocked him. He was only human, but he did not want to be; his only choice now was to eliminate that mark the only way he could…

He'd have to get rid of _her_. If he ever wanted to live without this weakness, she'd have to be gone, she, the ultimate source of it. Nellie Lovett…

The baker had been on his mind for far too long, and it was starting to affect him. To this he could simply not allow—Sweeney Todd could afford no weaknesses, not anymore. He was not, and refused to be, Benjamin Barker anymore; weaknesses were beneath him.

So rather than be the man he was not and live up to the weakness, accept it as any man would, the demon inside of him took charge—the demon being his true self—and decided to get rid of this nuisance known as Mrs. Lovett. It would surely fill that hole to have her gone…

He was really too far in his vehemence to realize that her death would only widen that hole even more until it all but swallowed him whole.

He found her in her part of the tiny house, just beyond the bakery, sitting in that recliner by the fire, a place she usually went to retire. He grinned darkly to himself, brandishing his razor; oh yes, retire she would…She certainly would…

There was a fore dancing in the hearth in front of her, and the blade reflected in it a lethal silver soon to drip rubies. It made him want to smile; he was one who loved rubies after all, those precious, precious rubies…And he had a feeling hers would be even more precious.

She slept on peacefully, her face angled towards the fire as he towered over her tiny figure—an innocent blissfully unaware to the demon casting a shadow on her, that death bringing tool in his hand.

His face still wore that faint, sinister smile as he leaned down towards her, the pale, slender column of her throat visible, highlighted in the perfect way in the flickering light. Her pulse beat steadily, slowly beneath the cold weapon, the blue vein so ready to be slashed open, just like all the others. Everyone had that same vein, so therefore, in his black eyes, they were all the same. These beings, these weaknesses in human form…

He stared at her face for a moment, studying the high cheekbones, the mass of auburn hair tumbling like fire down around her. And that pale neck…

Somewhere, in the recesses of his wicked soul where that stain of humanity still lurked, he felt a flash of pain. He could not understand it, relying on the blood, the darkness that swallowed him to cover it up, to make it nonexistent once again. She was just like all the others, a life that could so easily be ended, a being that was meaningless to society as a whole. But to him…

No, she was worthless to him as well, and a nuisance to him, being the weakness he refused to have any longer. He had suffered through the things she had inspired in him for too long; it needed to be ended, or else the dead heart inside of him might start beating again, might become revived and light again. And he could not accept that, not so long as the thirst for revenge flowed through his veins. She would just be a distraction, taking him away from his ultimate goal; Hell, in several ways she already was a distraction, a weakness…

The razor looked nice against her skin, and he was sure that her red blood would look even better. He wanted to move his hand across that neck, see that life giving crimson liquid bloom and fall, gush out in a torrent of red so warm and lovely. But yet…He could not.

The blade stayed positioned where it was, on her pulse, right on that jugular, and he could only stare at it, at her. Why could he not move his hand?

There was a pulse inside of him then, and he gasped, winced, nearly fell over from the unexpected movement. A pulse…he had not believed he had had one anymore, had always been so good at ignoring it. But now…

The smile slide from his face into a dark scowl as he glared at the woman who was unintentionally causing such an unwanted thing in him, now more than ever wanting to slice her throat open, watch her breathing stop.

And yet…She looked so damn peaceful, so bloody lovely that…The thought of seeing the blood staining her perfect countenance, running down that slender throat was rather…repulsive.

He pressed down a little too hard under the stress of his internal debate, puncturing the pale skin lightly. He watched as a thin line of blood formed, watched it reach up to caress the blade, the thing that had let it loose. He had been right; it appeared no different than any other person's blood, but the fact that it came from _her_, from that slender neck…it revolted him.

At this point Sweeney was considering slitting his own throat to escape the unbidden thoughts he was having. This woman was making him weak, making him into that foolish man with the naïve mind again; Benjamin Barker was buried, but she was digging him up again. It needed to be stopped, but his hand still wouldn't move and that pulse, that trembling in his soul, still would not stop haunting him, staying his actions.

"What are you doing to me…?" he whispered hoarsely to her unconscious figure, not expecting an answer and not wanting one. "With this heart…"

A fault, an Achilles heel—and he could do nothing to get rid of it. The razor fell from her throat, his figure moved away from her limp form. So many had fallen under the same curse without their consent; Sweeney Todd could now say that he had too.

It was a curse that seeped deep within the veins, flowed like the blood that pumped through the body, as sustaining as that red liquid. Only Sweeney, unlike his love for blood, despised this infiltrated liquid that now coursed through him, the weakness it caused, the expansion of that spot of light that he could no longer try to cover.

Mrs. Lovett had really done the impossible—made him, the demon of Fleet Street, feel something other than wrath, something other than anger and pain. Something only Benjamin Barker could feel…

Love. And he loathed her all the more for it, knowing that the weak spot inside of him was there to stay. A constant hole in his dark soul he refused to fill, a weakness that he was stuck with, apparent in each throb of his heart, that painful, loathing thud that he had not acknowledged in fifteen years, suddenly so alive and agonizing.

He retreated back up to his barbering shop where he would sit in that chair, that chair of death, and try to force his thoughts away from her, descending further into the darkness that was always pleasant, always present.

But his weakness….His weakness always managed to break, unbidden, unwanted, through, worming through the darkness enough times to make Sweeney Todd considering, once more, slitting his own throat.

It seemed even monsters, those who were dead inside, living only for the misery of others, could feel. And the blood, no matter how much, could never wash it away…

That night Sweeney Todd did not spend thinking of revenge, that ever present thing, but rather studying the blade in his hand, and the red, although dried now, that tainted it.

_It's short, I know, but I plan on putting this in two parts—this one, from Sweeney's POV, and another from Mrs. Lovett's POV when she wakes up to find blood on her neck and a tiny cut. Cuz, I don't think that can be considered normal, ha. _

_Please Review and I'll try to post the second half as soon as I can. _


	7. Weakness:Part Two

Weakness Part Two

_Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd or Mrs. Lovett or Toby (even though his name's just mentioned, ha)_

She awoke to find the room cold and the fire dead. For a moment she tried to collect her bearings, dark eyes flickering around the familiar space as she began to relax, for some reason her heart racing in her chest. Her gaze roved over the empty fireplace, the last little embers that managed to survive the night still burning like tragic little stars far beneath the hearth, trying to cling to any amount of heat. She doubted that they would last long.

Her neck hurt, and she was not yet aware as to why. It was the first sensation she felt upon waking, and slowly raising her hand, she was startled to feel not only a small cut in the pale skin above her jugular, but also a small amount of crusted dried blood trailing in thin streaks down her neck.

Mrs. Lovett did not even have to think to know who was to blame.

The thought of Sweeney Todd doing this to her in her sleep—trying to kill her she was sure—was simply unnerving. She had always known that Mr. Todd did not like her, but she had foolishly never believed that he would hurt her.

As long as they were in their diabolical scheme together, he could not afford to lose her; after all, she took care of the evidence, and without her he would have surely been caught by now, certainly by the same man he had sworn revenge against. Through this she had felt invincible against him, immune to his threats. He could never risk killing her…

But as Mrs. Lovett began to scratch the dried blood, winced at the sharp pain in the cut, she wondered what had changed. He had threatened her before, but to actually harm her…

What had she done? She could not recall doing anything extreme that would insult him and provoke him into injuring her, let alone try to take her life. She had no doubt that killing her had been his intention, and she should be rejoicing that she was alive, but…

She couldn't; not so long as she knew that _he_ had been the one to try to kill her. To die from the one you love…It would not have been so horrible a death; she mused, and hated herself for thinking of such a thing. She wanted to be positive, especially for him, wanted to be the light in his so dark world. And yet here she was, contemplating that ever tempting death…

She had to get up. With a groan she did so, grabbing her neck as a sharp pain went through it as she twisted it hearing the satisfying sound of her bones in her neck crack.

She knew that she had to stop puzzling over Mr. Todd; the man was just too impossible to understand sometimes, and she knew that it would be wise just to quit. And yet…As she entered the bake shop she barely noticed Toby smile and say good morning to her, too far drawn into her thoughts, as she usually was, on Sweeney Todd.

The man was…She had no words to describe him, nothing that fit. She could say that he was a monster, but she did not think that—he was just damaged, as all people were when she really thought about it. Could one seriously go through life without getting hurt at least once? It was impossible, but the hurt Sweeney Todd received was far worse than most. Life…if he was to be considered a monster, it could be said that he was only that way as a product from life. A cold, unforgiving world…

She could hate him for trying to kill her, for the stinging of the cut in her neck, but she knew that it was futile, and in some ways, in the darkest part of her, Mrs. Lovett thought that perhaps she did deserve it, that blade to her throat. She could by no means be considered a normal human being after all, not about what she was about to do.

Speaking of which… The bake house was hot, as usual, when she entered it, the fire that never died, that fire from hell, burning bright and startling in the center of the room. She approached it quietly, staring at it in an almost transfixed way. This fire that consumed her life, as deadly and beautiful as Sweeney Todd…

The door creaked on its hinges as she opened it, and the fire burned at her, the heat curling around her skin in a searing caress that sent chills down her spine. She should have been afraid of it, but instead she was entranced by the deadly way the fire danced, hypnotized by its heat. It was a deadly thing, just like the man that seemed to control it, seemed to embody it…Was that why she loved it? All for Sweeney Todd?

Most things in her life she loved only for him…

The pies were ready, having been quietly steaming all night long above the dancing flames, keeping them fresh. As Mrs. Lovett leaned forward to grab them, smiling slightly to herself, something stopped her, a familiar thing—

A blade to her throat.

Immediately she stilled, eyes widening on the leaping fire in front of her, sparking with the embers Mrs. Lovett was sure were sparking the exact same way in Sweeney's eyes.

She wanted to say that this unexpected attack was surprising, startling even, but she knew it would be a lie; Sweeney Todd always finished the job, and let no victim get away twice.

"Mrs. Lovett…" his voice was a deadly purr, the cool metal digging into the pale, blemished skin of her throat just as before, deepening the thin cut until a thin trickle of blood managed to work its way out, falling in a perfect streak down to her shoulder.

Under the pressure of the blade, to prevent her jugular from being slashed open at that very moment, Mrs. Lovett had to step back away from the raging fire back into the cold room, shivering as she tore her eyes slowly away from the flames to trail them up, always up, to the black blazing coals that served as the wicked man's eyes.

"M-Mr. Todd…" She did not sound surprised, or shocked, or scared; she could no longer force herself to express emotions she could never feel around him. The charade was up, and it only served to make his eyes alight even more, his mouth, those kissable lips, twisting into a dark scowl.

She knew what he was thinking—how dare this woman not feel what he wanted her to feel? It made no sense to him, as much as it made no sense to her. She had every reason to fear him, to hate him, and yet…She did the opposite.

What was it that Sweeney had called her, all those nights ago when their lives had been but a dance of death? A bloody wonder…

That she could truly, quite literally, be.

"Mrs. Lovett…!" He hissed her name, a dangerous sound that meant death to all that heard it.

In a way she could compare it to a siren's call, so beautiful and dark, yet oh so deadly…

"Do you know why I'm down here Mrs. Lovett?" he calmly asked, and she did not jump as his hand, that rough cold appendage, reached out to squeeze her bare arm, and she felt shivers overtake her body at the contact.

She did not look away from him, her face closed as she took on the illusion that she did not care, so long as she was near him. She did not care…poor Mrs. Lovett wished not to admit to even herself that it was far more than an illusion, and that word was false in every sense.

"To find me, Mr. Todd, I'm sure, and found me yeh did. Now what is it you want?"

She noticed the change that overcame him at her words, his already pale complexion turning almost gray and ashen as all the blood seemed to drain from his face. His grip on her arm tightened until it was painful, but she did not say anything; she hardly noticed, too caught up in the startling glint of something other than malice reflected to her in his dark eyes.

It was something she could not identify, an obscure emotion that fit so entirely out of place with everything—the situation, the razor at her throat, the madman known as Sweeney Todd—that she had to gasp. Never before would she have thought…

Her gasp had seemed to snap him out of whatever strange emotion he had fallen into, and before she could further try to decipher that odd look or try to understand how it connected to her question, Mrs. Lovett found herself hurled towards the open furnace, the flames burning bright and blinding in her eyes as she fell forward, a silent scream on her lips…

Only to be caught roughly by the neck by an enraged Sweeney Todd. She gasped and winced at how his fingernails dug into her tender flesh, the creamy skin glowing ghostly in the flickering firelight. She could no longer see Sweeney as he moved around behind her, keeping a hold of her shoulder and neck as he raised his other hand to place it on the slowly opening vein pulsating at her neck.

"What do _I_ want Mrs. Lovett? Is that what you just asked me? Well my dear, you should know by now what I want… Revenge, pain…" He dragged the blade slowly across her throat to create another blood trail, the red droplets shining like actual rubies in the firelight.

"Why is it Mrs. Lovett, that you're the only one that drips true rubies? I've seen so any fall, but you…You…_You_…" He growled into her ear, his hot breath, smelling faintly of whisky, burning into the back of her face, her ear as he whispered into it, igniting her body in flames. She was engulfed, and there was no way to escape now, with the fire on both sides of her…

But she never wanted to escape, and never would.

"You're so goddamn _different_ it's infuriating. I've wanted to slit your throat for months now, but…The opportunity never seemed good enough. But fire…Fire suits you love, don't you think? It suits us both, creatures from hell preying on the innocents, bloody wonders…"

He stopped to stare into the flames with her for a moment, and she was still, limp, and nearly dead in her heart in his arms. She did not say anything, waiting for him to continue not out of patience, but out of some form of shock. Sweeney Todd was actually talking to her, revealing at least something, and his voice…

His voice…

He was not growling at her, not threatening her, but actually whispering in her ear, his voice, that dark, soft voice…It held nothing but unrestrained, complete longing and, if she was not mistaken, deep despair, all of which he had carried with him for so long…

"You know what my weakness is Mrs. Lovett? I only have one real weakness that I'll ever allow, and only one, simply because I cannot get rid of it, no matter how hard I try. It's never going to leave, forever dripping rubies…Do you want to know what my weakness is, Nellie?"

She was struck dumb, blind, and dead; she could not seem to hear him, the roaring of the fire in her ears too loud. A weakness…

"Weakness…?"

Her voice was drowned out in the flames, lost in the pit that they existed in. With a growl he pulled her head back by her wild auburn locks—fire in their own right—and the razor trailed down, glittering with her blood, as hard lips, coarse from so much pain, slammed into those of blood red.

And the fire burst into an inferno. Mrs. Lovett couldn't breathe, a helpless victim as Sweeney Todd ravaged her mouth, that razor skimming constantly over the skin of her throat, the lick of a flame ready to consume her, turn her to ash. And to it all she obliged, indulging Sweeney's weakness as she succumbed to her own, all barriers dropping as the line blurred, the blood fell, and the flames danced.

And then, just like that he was gone, the taste of whisky still lingering on her tongue as Sweeney Todd left her panting before that furnace, kneeling before the flames. The razor, encrusted with her rubies would be all that he would keep of the event; the memory that he would slowly incinerate through that craving for revenge, the constant intake of alcohol.

The Devil after all, could bear no weaknesses…

Mrs. Lovett never mentioned the event to him again, keeping a scarf around her neck to cover the obvious wounds. No one asked, and Sweeney never looked; Mrs. Lovett knew that he regretted it, indulging his weakness, but she did not care.

For that day, that moment before the fire where everything was highlighted, she had gained a powerful piece of information, information that would keep her going, keep her sustained in smiling no matter what. And that was the simple truth:

Sweeney Todd was only mortal; how could he not have faults?

_I hope you guys liked it, because I basically typed it all up in one night on a random writing spree. It didn't really turn out at all like I expected it to, cuz I was thinking of having Mrs. Lovett confront Sweeney, but…I guess I'll just use that idea for another one shot, ha! Please Review!_


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